


dance, dance

by waveydnp



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, Quarantine, Self Care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: quarantine is starting to get to dan
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 29
Kudos: 254





	dance, dance

Dan’s lost track of what day it is. The counting was starting to do his head in.

In the grand scheme of life it hasn’t been that long. Hell, he’s sure he’s quarantined himself of his own volition for longer than this plenty of times. Staying home isn’t something that usually feels like a burden.

But he doesn’t like being told what to do. He doesn’t like being told what he’s _not allowed_ to do. It chafes at some part of him that’s rooted deep. 

Phil’s in the same sweats he’s been in for days, legs crossed at the ankles, feet up on the coffee table. He’s sat on the sofa playing Apex, and Dan can see from where he’s stood halfway across the room surveying the scene that there’s a stain of coffee dribble on his shirt. 

For some reason it pisses him off. 

It’s not like he’s doing any better. He’s got as much stubble as his lagging pubescence will physically allow, and the scent of him is a musky, natural one that would surely be a stench if he’d actually moved his body more than walking to and from the kitchen and the bedroom in the past three days. 

“Hey,” he says none too gently into the dead air of their lounge.

Phil doesn’t answer. He probably doesn’t even hear it.

Dan’s skin crawls. He’s had enough therapy to recognize that he’s on the verge of something he’ll regret when the anxiety isn’t quite so cloying, and he’ll pat himself on the back later for having the wherewithal to stop his destructive tendencies in their tracks. For now it just feels vaguely unsatisfying.

Because he wants to do the bad things, the misery-spreading things, he really does. They’d feel good in the moment. But he’s an adult now, one who’s worked hard to be able to control his baser impulses. So, instead of shouting at Phil for being a slob, he turns on his heels and heads for the shower. 

-

He’s too keyed up for a bath. Sitting still with his thoughts is the last thing he wants. He stands under hot spray and cleans himself without ceremony, no face masks or exfoliating scrubs, just shampoo for his oily curls and a swipe of body wash against the parts of his body that smell bad. He’s in and out in less than five minutes, barely enough time for the mirror to fog up. 

He can’t bring himself to put on jeans, but clean trackies and a soft jumper are still an improvement over clothes he hasn’t bothered changing in days. His hair he leaves to its own devices. No one is going to see it but the man whose quiff had given up a long time ago. 

He shaves, brushes his teeth, clips his toenails. He leans in close to the mirror and tries not to see the half moon tinge of darkness that rings his eyes as he plucks the few hairs that grow in the space between his brows. It’s not the kind of romanticized self care that pretty much begins and ends with scented candles and gets retweeted thirty thousand times by people who have no idea what it’s like to lack the will to take care of themselves. It’s the kind of tedium that takes effort, and the kind that always, always makes him feel better after he’s forced himself to do it.

-

Phil looks not to have moved more than a few greasy strands of hair on his head when Dan returns to the lounge. His thumbs are the only part of him that aren’t static, and now that Dan smells like lemon and clean laundry, the unwashed aroma of the man who shares his space is painfully clear.

“Hey,” Dan says again, less aggressive than before but with just as much conviction.

Phil grunts, at least, but his eyes don’t move from where they’re glued to the telly.

“You stink.”

Phil half grunts half laughs. He thinks it’s a joke, or maybe even that Dan’s trying to flirt. 

Dan picks a cushion up off the sofa and smacks Phil right in the face. 

Phil splutters. “What the hell?”

Dan does it again, relishing the soft noise made by the contact of the pillow against Phil’s daft face. Then he picks up the remote and turns off the tv. Phil rubs his nose and regards him with a look of betrayal.

“Pay attention to me,” Dan says, not giving one ounce of a fuck how needy that makes him sound. He _is_ needy, for christ’s sake.

“That hurt,” Phil says, trying to grab the cushion from Dan, likely to return the favour. He’s not nearly quick enough though, and Dan gives him another bop for good measure.

Phil squawks, springing up from the couch and fully lunging at his attacker. He grabs a handful of Dan’s jumper, and, with surprising strength, manages to wrestle him to the ground. He pins Dan’s biceps to the ground with his knees and looks down at him with unbearable smugness.

Dan could easily flip him over and gain the upper hand. They both know it, but Dan _had_ whacked him fairly hard, so he reckons Phil’s earned a few moments to gloat. 

“I was winning,” Phil says petulantly.

“No you weren’t.”

“Well…” He huffs.

Dan grins. 

“I hate you.”

“Cool.” Dan lifts a leg up and pushes his foot right in Phil’s face.

“Oh my god, you fucking—” he starts to protest. “Wait. Why does your foot smell nice?”

“I had a shower,” Dan says, wiggling his toes against Phil’s mouth. “You should try it.”

Phil answers by biting him, hard.

“Ow, fuck. You better hope my foot didn’t have Corona,” Dan says, lifting up his other leg to dig his knee into Phil’s back. 

“This is genuine babuse,” Phil whines, rolling off of Dan and lying down on the floor beside him. “I think you broke my nose.”

Dan turns his head to look at him. He reaches up to push Phil’s glasses up onto his forehead, then leans in and kisses the bridge of Phil’s nose. “Sorry,” he says softly. “I’m going mad.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, his tone so gently knowing. 

“I miss running.”

Phil smiles. “That’s so weird.”

“I know. Makes me sound like a wanker, but…” He looks up at the ceiling. “It just sucks. I was actually gonna do it this time.”

“You still will.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Let me be sad.”

“Okay. Sorry.” He rolls onto his side to face Dan. “I just hate it when you’re sad.” He slips his hand under Dan’s jumper and lays it flat against his stomach.

“I wanna do something. I’m crawling out of my skin.”

“With me?”

Dan looks at him again. “Yes, idiot. With you.”

-

They haven’t done this in ages. 

Dan is sweating. His heart is pounding from the exertion, shower made moot by the sweat gathered at his temples and lower back. It was a good idea though. He feels alive.

He’s sat on the sofa now, watching Phil take his turn. Phil sucks at this, but it’s endearing. It’s so endearing Dan feels like his chest might burst with every clunky move of Phil’s feet. The man really does have a remarkable lack of rhythm. 

“You still suck at this,” Dan informs him. “I reckon you were hardly worse when we did this with our legs tied together.”

“Piss off, don’t distract me.”

Dan chuckles, stretching his legs out in front of him. He feels good. He’s not stupid enough to think the feeling will last forever, but for now it’s a nice reprieve from the unbearable uncertainty of life as they currently know it to just watch his clumsy boyfriend fumble his way through a dancing game he has no business playing.

“I think I’m getting better,” Phil says, a little out of breath, as red exes flash up on the computer screen to instantly negate his hopefulness.

“Totally.” 

Phil is too focused to bother protesting Dan’s sarcasm. He’s too focused to notice when Dan pulls out his phone, too focused to argue when Dan starts recording him. 

It’s just for a couple seconds. It’s just his feet, his big clumsy feet. Dan just wants to hold on to this feeling. He wants to remember that even when the world outside their little bubble was falling apart, inside there was still this. Still moments of happiness and stupidity and normalcy. Still them.


End file.
